So Human
by The Konfessionist
Summary: Sanctuary has become a budding community making it's mark on the Commonwealth, but in the earth hundreds of feet below the streets of the Settlement lies something dormant-something the Wasteland won't be able to stop-and it all starts with Mama Murphy's gift, Vault 111, and a 13 year old boy by the name of Thomas. (rating will change as the story progresses)


**A/N** **: Welcome to my first ever Fallout 4 fic!** **This is an AU I've had floating around in my head for months now, so here's the gist of it to avoid any confusion since a true explanation of events will be dribbled into the story and not given outright;**

 **In this timeline it's the year 2289, which is two years after the start of F4, and Sanctuary has become a thriving community in the Commonwealth without the help of the Sole Survivor, who never thawed out from Vault 111. Instead, in Concord, the deathclaw was still drawn to the gunfight and killed off the remaining raiders while the Quincy survivors waited out the massacre and came out of it to continue on to found Sanctuary! Preston's the de facto mayor and, officially, the last Minuteman with no successor to help him revive the cause and the constant duties he had to the town and it's newcomers. This story includes him but does not follow him solely, and-well-you'll be seeing who our _real_ main character is soon enough!**

 **Otherwise, please enjoy the story and shoot my way any questions if there's confusion or comments/points you'd like to make.**

 **As for updates, the story will be updated when chapters are done/when I feel like posting. I mainly wanted to get this out of my head and into the public eye because it's a plot bunny nibbling on my brain, driving me insane LOL**

 **Happy reading, happy writing!**

 **~TheKonfessionist signing out**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Sanctuary Hills had the fortune of awaking to a Summer-braised Monday morning, where the sky was a brilliant blue canvas for dry-brushed clouds and the balmy air carried a tartly sweet fragrance, which came from the town's mutfruit field planted at the corner end of the cul-de-sac. It lent a freshness that cut through the smell of dewy earth that came with the endless rains of Spring. The settlement bustled to life right at the wink of sunrise, leading farmhands to the greenhouses to tend to the beginning sprouts of the Summer crops, the scouts to walk the perimeter fence for any weaknesses, the shopkeepers to open the shops in the center lane of town, and the retiring shift of night guards back to their beds as the day switch took up arms at the front gate. Sanctuary's token team of handymen placated most other odd jobs for the town—such as finally getting the greenhouse painted or working through the pile or scrap discarded behind the _Rosa_ residence, and more often than not the handymen were up even earlier than the farmhands were when there was so much to be done.

Codsworth in particular enjoyed the early morning start to his days. A lifetime ago he was programmed to begin his morning at a very prompt 6:30 AM to put on coffee and begin cooking breakfast, but now such mornings were spent tending to his schoolhouse for when his students arrived; doing things like triple checking graded papers, tidying the indoor play corner, and ensuring that the class agriculture project didn't need fresh soil. He was quite pleased with the red brick planters that grew under the windowsills outside, where mutated cuttings would grow bushes of hubflower bells, and he was certain that they'd be just as lovely as the sprightly green hedges the residence once had. He remembered them being planted _right_ where the planter boxes were built now.

The schoolhouse was a small and squat estate that opposed the greenhouses at the cul-de-sac end, with holes in the walls patched with plywood, and the still existing exterior paneling needed a liberal coat of _Corvega Cruisin' Blue_ paint, so it wasn't very much to look at. Perhaps he of all people should've been more critical of its appearance, having known its clean majesty 212 years ago, but the old robot was undeniably proud of the building when it was the only thing he could call _his own_ in all of Sanctuary. He was _proud_ to be a teacher! Thankful to be given a second breath of life, exceptionally _gracious_ even when his new purpose had to do with children. It'd been so long since he last saw a child, let alone a clean and cared for one, that sensing the calm security in his students lit up his titanium plated core like a blazing toaster needing to be extinguished!

There was so much he wanted to do for his kids, to be a better teacher and offer them a proper education in a schoolhouse they deserved, and that want caused his ' _To-Do List'_ to grow _daily_ as he noted repairs that needed to be done. Just recently, however, the rotting roof was close to collapsing and had been replaced, which was a massive undertaking for Struges' team, and so he was content enough to decide that he could bring his concerns to Preston's attention another day.

If Codsworth had lungs, he suspected that he would've taken in a fulfilling breath of that Summer morning air as he drew open the blinds behind his desk. He gazed at the hubflower shoots right outside the window, he considered the day's heat peak as the sunshine spilled in, quickly reviewed the schedule he made for today's lessons, and then turned back upon his few students. Most of them were slumped drowsily over their desks and he decided that starting the day off with a fun activity would perk them right up. Perhaps a little exercise? A bit of stretching alone could do wonders! Ah, but there was a morning routine he had to uphold. _Attendance._

"Alright, children! My internal time clock is currently reading 8:05 A.M., which means it's time to take attendance followed by reciting the Pledge of Allegiance!"

His classroom had 6 desks only, since there were only 6 children in all of Sanctuary, and the desks were split into two parallel rows of three with the troublemakers and slow learners at the front. The meager amount of desks made it easy to deduce which students were absent or tardy when roll call needed to be taken, but the robot knew that the structure of a daily routine was good for the children, even if it seemed unnecessary to some.

"What's the _pooooint?"_ A young boy in the first desk on the left crowed lethargically—his jaw cradled by the heel of his palm as he draped himself across his desk top in a yawn, drawling through it. " _Thomas ain't heeere."_ The yawn finally stopped. "Thomas ain't _never_ here."

If anyone could break routine, it was 11 year old _Peter Shirley_. The boy was all freckles and a jutting overbite of crooked teeth when he grinned and his hair was never combed. He had a penchant for finding trouble and sneaking out of town without a chaperone, where he'd play in the river when it was muddy or hunt for tarberry clusters and radstag fawns that wandered off from their mothers. He was easy to bore and yet at the same time was easy to excite if you knew exactly how to wrangle his attention, and he was, _undoubtedly,_ Codsworth's premier troublemaker.

Still, the boy had a whimsy about him. You could certainly count on Peter to keep a day from being dull and at least he turned in his homework, even though he daydreamed a lot during his lessons.

" _Thomas_ _ **is not**_ _here,_ Mister Shirley. ' _Ain't'_ is not a respectable word." Codsworth tutted in correction.

"Of course ' _ain'ts'_ a word! My daddy says it a lot! If it's not a word than why d'people say it all the time? 'Ya can't say somethin' if it's not a word!" He argued, talking quickly. He always talked like he was running out of breath.

"Peter, _shut up,_ " A boy two desks behind Peter's hissed at him in warning. If it wasn't for the freckles that powdered his face in the same volume as Peter's did, no one would guess that this serious, almost boorish teenager was related to the trouble making boy. Lawrence Shirley was the only other man aside from their shared father that could put Peter on his best behavior.

" _You_ shut up!" Peter yelled back over his shoulder defiantly, turning over in his seat.

...Well, _most_ of the time.

"That's quite enough boys! No arguing!" Codsworth sighed to himself. "As a reminder, students, attendance must be taken for my records—your presence accounts for a small portion of your overall grade so it's just as important as your performance in class. The only punctuality you should concern yourselves with is your own. Now, may I continue?"

The small class rumbled in allowance, and Codsworth cleared his speakers in a pronounced cough before continuing.

"Jeremy?"

"Presents!" The token child responded with his one and only hand in the air. Jeremy was a slow learner, academically held back to the first grade despite being 9 years old, but he was undoubtedly the hardest working student in the class. Codsworth understood that his disability made him more susceptible to being treated as an invalid, having been born without a right arm and a slight hobble that favored the same side, but Jeremy managed with a determined optimism and showed more dedication to his studies than even the smarter students did. His grades certainly took an impressive uphill climb after the Longs adopted him several months back.

"Hugo?" The robot went on.

"Present!" Hugo hollered loudly from his desk behind Peter's, making the older boy jump. The adults always talked about how he had a big name for such a small boy—that _Hugo Van Landingham_ was astoundingly cumbersome for a 6 year old too scrawny for his pants—but his mother always said important people had the most rememberable names, and she seemed convinced that one day little Hugo Van Landingham would be the most important person in _all_ of the Commonwealth.

Many residents seemed to disagree, and Mama Murphy was quite certain of Hugo's menial fate as an adult.

"Peter?"

" _Present._ " He grumbled. "Why do we gotta say ' _present'_ when there's no presents!"

" _Peter,_ " Lawrence hissed again.

"And Lawrence?" Codsworth intervened to swiftly interrupt another fight.

"Present, sir."

"Abrielle?"

"Here, Mister Codsworth." 14 year old Abrielle Jackson, who had a bounty of coily curls and was unordinarily tall for her age, was the only girl in attendance and was his brightest pupil. In class she aided him in lessons with a patient and remarkable talent in easily explaining complicated topics, and out of class she watched over the younger students on the playground like a mother hen doting over her chicks. Codsworth surmised that if he ever had to retire as a teacher, he'd be happy to see her take up the mantle.

"And Thomas is late," He finished roll call with an ' _F'_ marking his final student's attendance record for the date _._

Thomas Young could be considered a difficult student, but that would've implied that he came to class enough to be _considered_ a student _._ No, that boy was just a _difficult child_ overall with a jaded attitude that was shockingly mature for his age, being only 13 years old, and Codsworth frequently had trouble with figuring out how to treat a child with the personality of an adult. Thomas had difficulty in taking direction (rather, he didn't like being told what to do), and decided that receiving a formal education was a waste of his time. He'd instead wander around Sanctuary while lost in his own thoughts and constantly found ways to disappear off to somewhere secret when it came time to do his community chores. He also wasn't particularly social with any of the other students.

Well, aside from one.

"Miss Abrielle?" Codsworth called. "Would you be so kind as to find Thomas? I think he might find today's lesson particularly engaging if he'd grace us with his presence."

"I'll see what I can do," She replied as she pushed back her seat and got up from her desk, taking an ' _excuse pass'_ off the key hanger by the door—which was a toy car on a key chain—before exiting the classroom.

Swiftly calculating percentages, the robot came to the conclusion that Abrielle returning successful was—...abysmal, but he wanted to give it the 'good old college try', as it were, before alerting Mister Garvey about Thomas' frequent absences. He knew that as Sanctuary's mayor, Preston had so many other things to worry about—like equally distributing security shifts between the few who actually knew how to fight; running himself to ragged exhaustion just from making sure every single settlers' needs were heard; and trying to keep the town downsized so they didn't draw attention from the local raiders or the Brotherhood... so Codsworth didn't want to add anything else onto the mayor's proverbial plate, especially when it was over something he personally felt responsible for as Sanctuary's teacher. He had a _duty_ to ensure that Thomas was attending school and learning.

That, and he made a promise to Mister Garvey back when the school was first being renovated. Thomas receiving a good education was something that was undoubtedly important to Preston and Codsworth wasn't going to let him, or one of his students, as difficult as they were, be disappointed. He wasn't going to stand idly by while a bright child wasted their potential.

He'd get Thomas in his classroom, or mark his words, he wasn't a model 5650RB Mister Handy!

* * *

 _111._

In the commons room of the bunkhouse, on a spot on the floor where dappling sunlight spread across the false wood floorboards from a patched hole in the roof, Thomas sat facing a metal steamer trunk pushed up against the corner wall. It was emblazoned with the same ' _111'_ on every side, including the lid, and he sat and observed it with a dirty finger tracing along the repeating number on its front side. It was painted blue, and thick-bodied with metal rivets bolted along the joining edges, and the heavy lid had twin draw bolt clasps that kept it shut. Wheels on the underbelly made it easier to cart around the bunkhouse and it was large enough for him to fold himself up inside, but the only thing it carried was extra blankets for the beds.

It was the only trunk of it's kind in all of Sanctuary, and it came from up the hill—from the vault that overlooked the town. The vault the settlers _never_ talked about.

 _Vault 111._

No one ever talked about it because of Preston. The only time where even _he_ would talk about it was if ' _Vault 111'_ was in the same sentence as ' _off limits'_. He told newcomers that it was empty except for nesting radroaches and that it wasn't all that interesting anyways, but Thomas knew better.

He still remembered that day when it was discovered, back when they first discovered Sanctuary.

Sturges had gone for a walk in the back woods and no one could find him for _hours._ Everyone was gathering to go out and look for him when he reappeared with an almost manic excitement as he relayed to Preston the vault he found. The two men, along with Mr. Long, had gone up to see if there was anything worth scavenging and they came back by nightfall with _loads_ of resources—tools, small scrap, medical supplies, _food!—_ but the three looked unsettled and even Sturges, who talked like he was obsessed with the sound of his own voice, said barely a couple of sentences when they returned. The day after that the three went back up with Mrs. Long as well with makeshift sleds, and they spent all day dragging back to Sanctuary the furniture, like extra mattresses and lockers, and large fixtures to tear apart for materials.

By dinner that evening everything that was retrieved was stockpiled inside one of the houses for storage, and Preston made his official announcement... _**no one** was allowed to go back to Vault 111. _When a fence had been erected around the town, a gate was placed right at the bridge that led over the stream and up the hill, and it was too tall to scale over. Preston claimed the banishment was for safety reasons but he was uneasy when he said it. Thomas knew he was lying, but even now, with two years having gone by since that day, he still didn't know why; so whenever he had the chance he'd sit in front of the only trunk in town that came down from Vault 111, and waited like it'd whisper to him some dark secret.

Of course, it never spoke.

" _Shouldn't you be in class, kid?"_

He looked back over his shoulder to see Mama Murphy shuffle in from the back hallway, her faded house slippers kept together by duct tape scuffing across the floor in a slow stride, back hunched and shoulders sagging, and her age-spotted hands held a chipped coffee mug with a genial shaking. Her milky eyes gazed blankly across the room in the general direction of where he was sitting to settle on a spot on the wall just above his head. He didn't know how she _always_ knew when he was around, especially during times like now when he was silently sitting, and she joked once that it was because he smelled like molerat ass and was pretty easy to sniff out.

If Vault 111 was the biggest mystery in Sanctuary, he considered this old bat to be a strong competitor for that title. She'd sometimes say funny things he didn't understand, but a lot of the time neither did anyone else—and the adults would either get all spooked or laugh at her like she was nuts because of this thing she called 'the Sight'.

Thomas didn't think she was nuts.

"So what if I'm not?" Thomas answered her question flippantly.

"Oh, well, _pardon me,_ " She chuckled rosily before hacking into a fist, causing her coffee to nearly slosh out of her cup.

He got up from his spot on the floor to help her but she waved him off the second she heard him getting to his feet, continuing to make a steady beeline for her special chair. It sat off to the side of the trunk, and on it's other side was a round bedside table covered in a dingy red cloth with embroidered flowers and a yellowed lace doily on top of it. She plopped down into her chair with a comfortable sigh and set her mug on the table with a certain hand, knowing it was there without having to feel out for it.

"How do you know where everything is when you're blind?" He questioned tactlessly as he reclaimed his spot on the floor, facing Mama Murphy instead of the trunk with his forearms draped over his bony knees.

"'Cause I can see twice as much as you can, kiddo." Her response was cryptic and curious to Thomas, but he said nothing as she took a sip of her coffee with the mug held in both of her hands again. "I know where everything is so don't you worry none 'bout old Mama Murphy."

"I ain't worried."

"Well now, guess that makes you the first," She replied with a smile. "People start worryin' about you too much when you're old. I didn't live this long by being soft and everyone 'round here's forgotten that."

"How old're you, anyway? Marshall says you're _really_ old. Like, a _billion years old_ —that true?" He asked after a thoughtful pause with his eyes gliding over her.

Mama Murphy's laugh came like a thunderous rumble, its boisterous nature a defiance to her elderly and fragile body. "I tell 'ya, Tommy, these old bones make me feel like it. My mind's still sharp though! I remember bein' a little girl as clear as if it happened yesterday. Remember being as young as you are now."

Thomas glanced back at the Vault 111 trunk behind him with a questioning eye as he continued to replay the day Preston dragged it into the bunkhouse. He wondered if that day was important enough that Mama Murphy remembered it, because Mr. Long and Sturges claimed they didn't and Mrs. Long always shooed him off when he asked, but Mama Murphy was the only one he never questioned since she hadn't gone up to the vault even once. The hill was too steep and she had bad ankles. The day when the others went racing up and down the hill with the sleds, the two stayed back in Sanctuary with Codsworth and kept themselves busy, playing cards and picking over the houses that hadn't been checked yet for useful material.

"I can tell you gotta lot on your mind." Mama Murphy piped up with a knowing voice as if she'd read his mind just then. "Anything you wanna share?"

"...D'you remember when Sturges found the vault?" He responded with his eyes still on the trunk. His hand reached out to brush over the rivets idly.

"Sure do." She nodded. "How long ago was that? Was right before Sanctuary _became_ Sanctuary... when it was just us seven. You, me, Preston, Sturges, the Longs, Dogmeat... haven't thought 'bout back then in a long time."

"Why'd Preston say we weren't allowed to go up there?" He finished as he turned back to face the old woman. "He says it's either dangerous or not interesting. Can't be both."

"I can't tell 'ya nothing about all that, Tommy," Mama Murphy shook her head and offered an apologetic smile. "You shouldn't be worryin' about what's up there, anyway. With all the time 'ya spend sittin' in front of that trunk—" She pointed a crooked finger in his general direction. "That could be time spent with your scrawny butt planted in a school desk. Time spent makin' friends with the other kids—kids your own age!—but you're always keeping old Mama Murphy company when I can't play ball like I use to."

Thomas didn't like being around most of the other kids, and as far as he could tell, _they_ didn't like being around _him_ , either. Whenever he came around the other kids would grow silent and avert their eyes like he made them nervous. He was fine with keeping his distance from them because Peter always talked shit then ran away crying, Hugo had a big blabber mouth and couldn't do anything right because he was clumsy, and Lawrence always found _something_ to complain or worry about. The only ones he could tolerate were Abby—who liked climbing trees and wasn't afraid to pop you in the mouth if you were being an ass—and Jeremy—because he knew what it was like not to have a family, just like Thomas. That was until the Longs took him in, though, so they didn't talk much anymore on nights when the clouds were gone to show the speckling of stars, and they openly talked about wishing they had mothers to call them back inside.

Mrs. Long always called Jeremy in by the time the generators turned on the streetlights.

Thomas stayed out well after dark.

"I don't like the other kids." The young boy simplified his thoughts out loud. "And waddo I need school for? I can read and write already, an' I know how to grow good tatos. I can fix fences and I know how t'hunt and skin animals, too. I know all the things I gotta know already! All the important stuff!"

"If everyone thought that what they already knew was all they _had_ t'know, then we'd have a lotta dumb people on our hands." She joked but Thomas wasn't amused. "You're not a _dummy,_ are you, kid?"

"I'm notta dummy." He grumbled bitterly before tacking on; "Preston can't _make_ me go to school... doesn't even know where I am half the time, anyway."

"I ain't one t'judge how folks wanna live their life around here, but that's _some way_ to treat that good man, who's done a lot for this town and even more for _you,_ Thomas." Mama Murphy scolded, settling back into her special chair with a disappointed sigh as she replaced her mug on her chair-side table, saying nothing else.

He clenched his jaw and looked back upon the Vault 111 trunk that sat beside him, still silent with its dark secrets and each of its rivets began to feel like eyes, staring back into him with equally disapproving stares. Thomas remembered a time when Preston cared and was around more often. He always checked in on him, made sure Thomas ate and bathed and combed his hair and brushed his teeth, and Preston would tell him stories until he fell asleep on nights when he was too terrified to even shut his eyes—stories about the Minutemen back when every settlement had their flag and every person knew who they were, when the Commonwealth was safer—but now—... Preston stopped looking in on him. He stopped making sure Thomas brushed his teeth. He stopped telling him stories. He became too busy worrying about everyone else and the town that Thomas didn't even see him most days.

But he didn't mind it at all. Thomas decided that he was old enough to take care of himself and didn't need Preston anymore—and yet, the ex-Minuteman would still drop in and try ordering him around like he was a little soldier. That was what Thomas _didn't_ like about him... the fact that Preston treated him like everyone else did, as a nuisance needing to be controlled, and only seemed to show up to scold him and then would run off to the next settler who called his name for help.

"Listen, kiddo," Mama Murphy spoke up to break the silence that fell between them. "I'll tell you what's up in that vault, but if I do, 'ya gotta promise me a couple things."

"... _Really—?_ " Thomas said a little elatedly despite his suspicion as he turned back around to face her. "You're not lying?"

"Hand t'God," She said with a dramatic gesture of one hand on her chest and the other towards the ceiling. He got to his knees and scoot himself to the edge of her seat, crossing his elbows on the arm of her chair to rest his chin, gazing up at her.

"What's up there, then?"

" _Ah, ah,_ you gotta _promise_ me first that you'll do whatever I tell 'ya afterward tellin' 'ya what you wanna know."

" _Why?_ You haven't even said what I hafta promise you, yet!"

"That's the trick," She chuckled as if she thought she was so clever. "So do we have a deal or not?"

"... _Fine,"_ He responded begrudgingly with a wilting voice of frustration. "I promise to do whatever you say."

"Good kid." Her hand found the top of his head easily, her thumb stroking over his cropped hair, which he tried cutting himself just yesterday. At least it wasn't in his eyes anymore so he didn't care how it looked. "From now on you're gunna go to school more often, _and,_ you don't go on up to that vault t'go play Grognak the Barbarian. _I **mean** it,_ kid, that place ain't no good for you or your friends."

"...So, _what's_ _up there?"_ He pressed more urgently at how serious her voice had become, losing it's usual jesting tone, and her face had darkened like a storm was raging behind her blind eyes.

" _...Somethin'_ _ **horrible,**_ _Thomas."_ She whispered it like it was the foulest thing she could ever speak into physical existence. " _I ain't scared of much... but whatever's up there? Scares me like nothin' else_ _ **ever**_ _could."_

"You're just trynna scare me!" He exclaimed with agitated realization, but when he saw the genuine terror in her face, he knew she wasn't lying—and then her face began to shift to something unrecognizable. "Mama Murphy—? _Mama Murphy?_ "

Thomas frowned worriedly when her expression had changed from its storm-ruined look to one where her eyes glazed over, like she was in a trance. He shook her arm roughly but she didn't react, as if everything around her had faded away, including him. He knew that when she said those funny things that he didn't understand, she'd call it ' _the Sight'—_ she claimed it let her see things no one else could see—but she never acted like _this_ before when she saw something. She was never this far away.

" _The Great War made it. They didn't mean to, but they did, those men in white coats. Then it slept for over 200 years in ice. Oh, the Commonwealth ain't seen nothin' like it—_ _ **somethin'**_ _ **it can't stop.**_ "

"Thomas, what's going on?" He heard a startled voice from the doorway of the bunkhouse, and when he looked back, he saw Abby on the front step—staring back in horror through the mesh screen of the door with wide eyes and her eyebrows pulled tightly together.

"I dunno! She's not actin' right, you gotta help me wake her up!" He called back and she shoved the door open to stride into the bunkhouse, letting it clap shut behind her as she rushed to Mama Murphy's other side and took one of the old woman's hands in both of hers.

"Mama Murphy, Mama Murphy _wake up—"_ Abby pried as she squeezed her spotty and wrinkled hand before releasing it, pressing her palm to Mara Murphy's forehead. " _Shit, she's burning up!_ " She muttered under her breath in shock.

" _B90-2. B90-2. B90-2. It opens with raised voices and a stray bullet._ _ **Oh,**_ _I made a_ _ **mistake!**_ _The Sight said not t'say anythin' and I_ _ **did!**_ _I started it!_ " Fearful tears began to roll from her eyes amidst her blank gaze, and her breathing quickened in horror as she gasped deeply, her hand clutching Abby's remaining hand still in her own with her whispering becoming more crazed and frightened. _ **"**_ _I see it all, the town in flames! Everythin' in ruins! Dozens dead! It comes for Thomas!_ _ **Don't go there! Don't open it!**_ _B90-2! B90-2!_ _ **Surly Brothers set her free! She comes for Thomas!**_ **Thomas—!** "

Mama Murphy's eyes rolled back at the final ushering of his name with a strangled noise cutting off the rest of what she meant to say, sounding sick and guttural. As she deflated back into her chair, she began to violently convulse with a hand clutching her chest, her movements knocking over the table at her chair side where her coffee mug shattered on impact with the floor after it tipped over, scattering the red table cloth like a collapsed phantom. Thomas was the first spurned into action, jumping to his feet as Abby remained kneeling beside Mama Murphy, trying frantically to hold the old woman still so she wouldn't hurt herself through her combative seizing.

" _ **Help!**_ " Thomas screamed as he ran from the bunkhouse and out into the middle of the street. " _ **Somebody**_ **help!** _It's Mama Murphy!"_

Around him settlers looked up from their work in alarm; the scrappers tearing apart the piles of junk behind the _Rosa_ house; the shopkeepers snapping out of their bored daydreaming down the way to look; he saw Codsworth poke a robotic eye out the schoolhouse window as some students gathered on the front porch and watched, curious; but the farmhands that worked at the greenhouse next door in the mutfruit field were the first to react, dropping tools from dirt-encrusted hands to rush toward Thomas to help.

He remained standing in the middle of the street, watching, _guilty,_ as Mama Murphy was carried unconscious out of the bunkhouse and run down the street to the clinic.

Abby was the only one who came to stand with him, her hand clutching his wrist tightly.


End file.
